


one star shy of star crossed

by inarizaki (xixuwus)



Series: star swallowers; let’s defy the universe [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, IwaAtsu, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Explicit Sex, Olympics, Post-Time Skip, established ushikage, oihina refusing to talk about their feelings, one-sided atsuhina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:41:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27476701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xixuwus/pseuds/inarizaki
Summary: “i think you and kageyama are meant to be soulmates,” oikawa says, chest flushed and breathing hard as he stares up at the hotel ceiling. hinata’s come dries on his stomach and he can’t be bothered to get up and clean it off yet.hinata turns on his side, propped on his elbow as he stares at oikawa. “what makes you say that?”you know when you know two of your friends clearly like each other but refuse to admit it? yeah, that’s oikawa and hinata in a nutshell.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Oikawa Tooru
Series: star swallowers; let’s defy the universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007718
Comments: 21
Kudos: 98





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> to celebrate oihina week!!  
> for day 6: soulmates and day 7: free prompt~ lol  
> the chapters will come out over the next few weeks slowly though, so it won't all be posted during oihina week, sorry! but you know what, every week is oihina week uwu
> 
> * * *
> 
> a HUGE thank you to my beta reader [greeny!!](http://twitter.com/greenywrites) pls consider commissioning them either for beta or for writing requests!

“i think you and kageyama are meant to be soulmates,” oikawa says, chest flushed and breathing hard as he stares up at the hotel ceiling. hinata’s come dries on his stomach and he can’t be bothered to get up and clean it off yet. 

hinata turns on his side, propped on his elbow as he stares at oikawa. “what makes you say that?” 

_ other than the obvious _ , they both think. the obvious being the inexplicable tie between kageyama and hinata, the immediate declaration of rivalry. they have the same fire burning white hot in their stomachs, a fire that inspires other colors of fire but is never the same hue as theirs. kageyama and hinata are made from the same star flames, souls forged in the same sun. 

oikawa turns on his side to face hinata. he sighs, wrapping an arm around hinata’s waist and pulling him closer. “you’ll be going back to him after this,” he mutters into his hair. 

“i’m going back to  _ japan _ ,” hinata says pointedly. a place—he’s going back to a place, not a person. kageyama is not a place, but oikawa doesn’t really see the difference. 

“didn’t you promise him you’d follow him anywhere?” oikawa says. 

hinata puts his hands to oikawa’s chest and pushes him away. his brows are furrowed and he’s frowning. those fire amber eyes are cracked. “are you trying to get me to leave you for him?” hinata snaps. 

“don’t be ridiculous,” oikawa says, holding his arm out as a gesture for hinata to lay back down with him again. “he’s dating ushiwaka.” besides, he and hinata aren’t together in the first place either. 

hinata sits up on his knees, hovers over oikawa, still frowning. oikawa wants to kiss that frown away. they only have a few hours with each other before he has to go to practice, and he doesn’t want to leave hinata with this expression. “lay down with me, shouyou. the sun will come up soon,” he pleads, reaching up and threading his fingers through hinata’s hair, gentle. hinata lets oikawa pull him down with little resistance, presses a series of little kisses against his lips before he snuggles his face into oikawa’s neck. 

“don’t say i’m his,” hinata whispers against oikawa’s collarbone. “i’m not part of his set anymore.” 

he’s not. it’s been a long time since hinata’s been the club to kageyama’s demon. “i’m sorry. that was wrong of me,” oikawa says, pressing a kiss to hinata’s forehead. 

“but i  _ am  _ going back to japan,” hinata says. “i’m gonna play him, and i’m gonna beat him—wherever he is in the world. i made a promise.” 

“i know.” he pets hinata’s hair until it’s almost flat in the back. who knew when oikawa came to brazil with his argentinian team that he’d run into this runt he’d known from high school, a boy who redefined and reshaped the game with that stupid genius kohai of his. who knew it’d be them half a world away, pressed thigh to thigh and listening to each other breathing in the early hours of the morning. 

when the sunrise breaks through the curtains, oikawa finally pries himself away from hinata’s grip and gets into the shower. halfway through rinsing his hair, hinata joins him and kisses him up against the cold tile. 

oikawa makes it to practice with two minutes to spare. 

they get to spend one last night together before oikawa goes back to argentina. they get to spend one last night clinging to skin and memorizing the crevices of each other’s bodies. oikawa leaves little gifts between hinata’s thighs, and hinata leaves his own on oikawa’s back. 

“are you sad i’m going?” oikawa asks as he pulls his shirt over his head. he and his team are leaving for the airport soon. yes, they know shouyou is here. no, they don’t ask about it—because they’ve never seen a tragedy quite like theirs, stars destined to always pass by each other but never touch.

“no, why would i be sad?” hinata asks. he truly isn’t sad. they didn’t cross an ocean to fall in love and declare their lives to each other. they came here to practice and train and win. this… this wasn’t really supposed to happen, a small deviation in their journey, but it is not the end goal. oikawa is going back to argentina to continue pursuing his dream, and in a few more months, hinata will be returning to japan to do the same. 

“just making sure,” he says, zipping his bag closed. hinata lays on his side and snuggles with the hotel pillow between his shoulder and his cheek. the moonlight hits the curve of his waist and ass, and oikawa wants nothing more than to fall back in bed with him. he leans over and puts one hand behind hinata’s head, presses him into the mattress with a kiss. hinata wraps his hand around the back of oikawa’s neck and drags him down further. oikawa avoids letting their chests touch, afraid that if he feels this dwarf sun’s warmth then he’ll get pulled in by gravity and never escape. 

“i have to go,” he whispers against hinata’s lips. 

“hm.” hinata licks his lower lip.

“i have to go,” he says again, trying to pull away this time, but hinata’s hand on the back of his head is still firm. 

hinata lifts his body as he tries to pull oikawa into a hug, and the only reason why oikawa doesn’t immediately submit is because his teammate knocks on his door and tells him to hurry up. hinata doesn’t need to know spanish to know what he’s said. he finally concedes, lets his arms fall away from oikawa’s body and instead spreads himself over the area that was once body-warm with oikawa’s presence. he’s suddenly sleepy. 

“you sure you don’t want me to see you off to the airport?” hinata asks, voice almost muffled by the pillow. 

“no, i think my teammates have had enough of seeing you,” oikawa chuckles as he shoulders his bag. 

“have you?” 

the question catches oikawa off guard, but he just smiles. how is it that hinata can say such simple things that make oikawa want to drop his things and bare his skin to hinata time and time again? he is rubbed raw by hinata’s honesty. 

“ah, i want to say something selfish,” he mutters, running his fingers through hinata’s hair. 

“so you  _ have  _ seen enough of me,” hinata jokes. oikawa gives an airy laugh, but his lungs are a little too tight. 

“i really haven’t seen enough of you,” he confesses, finally standing up. he’s really leaving. 

“wait.” hinata grabs his wrist. “what’s the selfish thing you want to say?”

oikawa debates whether he should say it or not. it’s probably not what hinata is thinking, but oikawa doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t want to influence hinata, doesn’t want to give his own hopes up as well. he also doesn’t want to leave without at least letting hinata know his thoughts. just once, he wants the universe to work in his favor instead of against him. he leans down and presses his forehead to hinata’s. 

“i hope you come back,” he whispers, “because i don’t do long distance.” 

oikawa can’t tell what’s going on in hinata’s head. his eyes are amber lit with mystery, too many possibilities flashing between those bits of highlighted brown and deeper black streaks. he shouldn’t have said anything. oikawa presses his last kiss to hinata’s forehead, pushes him into the bed by his shoulder as he grabs his suitcase and heads for the door. 

“don’t forget to shower,” he says, yanking the hotel door open and leaving. he doesn’t spare hinata a glance. 

* * *

“you’re back early,” pedro says, munching down his breakfast while reading. “i thought you were supposed to take mr. argentina to the airport.” 

hinata leaves his shoes by the door and trudges his way to the table, slumping into a seat. “he didn’t want me to.” 

“is that what you’re sad about?” pedro asks, setting his book down.

“i’m not sad.” 

“ei, what happy person comes home looking like this. you can barely sit straight.” 

“i’m not sad! i’m just tired. and my back hurts.” 

“ah, your grand king must be grand in that area as well?” 

hinata squawks and tries to kick pedro’s shin underneath the table. pedro laughs, and they exchange banter before hinata has to get ready for work. pedro tells him to take it easy. 

life returns to normal. the short few days hinata spent with oikawa became a fever dream, and the only reason why hinata knows any of it was ever real is because oikawa left hinata his ca san juan sweat towel. the blue is a little bit darker than his aoba johsai uniform. oikawa’s always been a blue boy, hasn’t he? 

their communication dwindles like a candle, the natural progression of late night texts becoming less and less frequent as the throes of life take back its mundane routine. oikawa hasn’t texted hinata in weeks. the calls that hinata does get are always voicemails, like a disjointed game of phone tag they play between volleyball practices and odd delivery work hours. 

hinata tries not to think much of it; they’re both busy and have their own lives, but on a particularly gloomy night, hinata’s reading back through their messages as he’s curled up in bed. the ca san juan sweat towel lays at his feet, and he can feel its weight on his toes under the covers. his bed feels cold. he curls up his blanket and wraps himself around it. the message he’d sent oikawa about his upcoming tournament seems unimpressive and marks that oikawa hasn’t seen it yet. the last voice mail oikawa sent him was something about seeing a cat on the side of the street. he said it was orange like hinata’s hair.

“you still waiting for him?” pedro asks, leaning against the doorframe of hinata’s room. pedro’s been coming to talk to hinata more frequently these days. 

“he hasn’t read it yet,” he mutters, setting his phone down. 

“are you sad?” 

hinata half laughs, half scoffs. “sad? why would i be sad? he’s in argentina and training and doing well. i’ve got a tournament tomorrow, and we’re totally gonna crush it. what do i have to be sad about?” 

pedro folds his arms across his chest and sighs. “don’t wait for him, shouyou,” he says. “you didn’t come here to wait, right?” 

he’s right. he didn’t, but pedro’s words make the hole in hinata’s chest just a little bit bigger, deeper. the taste of something so familiar, that same drive and spark and flame. he hates to admit it, but that passion oikawa has reminds him of kageyama. that’s right. he’s not here to wait on someone or just live life content to be pushed back and forth by the waves of the ocean. the phantom touch of oikawa’s fingers in his hair make his heart shake.

“pedro… i think i am sad,” hinata mumbles, head hung low as he grips a pillow in his lap. 

“you can be sad,” pedro says, “but when you’re done being sad, there are dishes in the sink.” 

hinata lets out a choked laugh and tells him he’ll get right on it. pedro ends up doing the dishes with hinata as hinata tries to explain to him what the differences between indoor volleyball and beach volleyball are. later that night, he falls asleep with the thought of oikawa’s hands in his hair and tears behind his closed eyelids. 

the next day, hinata wins the tournament. in between congratulations and hugs, hinata has the thought to call oikawa and share his victory with him. he imagines oikawa praising him, imagines challenging him. the sound of his name flits by on the ocean breeze amongst the crowd cheering for him on the beach. 

he decides not to say anything. 

two more years pass by in the blink of an eye, and hinata finds himself at the airport barely missing his flight because he forgot his passport. he didn’t have enough time to pick up his forgotten heart on the beach. 


	2. Chapter 2

“do you believe in soulmates?” hinata asks atsumu over dinner. 

atsumu originally planned for this to be a date, but in hindsight, he might not have made that clear enough to hinata. asking him “do you want to have dinner with me?” might not have clued hinata in enough to realize “as a date” not “as a friend.” perhaps hinata would’ve gotten the hint if atsumu had declared his love in the middle of volleyball practice. he could suffer their fellow teammates’ glares of annoyance for a moment if it meant hinata would look his way for just a second. 

hinata asks such a romantic question, but atsumu can clearly see the way his eyes gloss over. his body is here, but his mind is distant, probably across oceans and rivers and mountains. it was far fetched of atsumu to think he could chase down a comet like hinata.

“yeah,” he whispers. “i do believe in soulmates.” 

“like… in what way?”

hinata is thinking too hard about something, but atsumu doesn’t know what. he thought hinata was a very easy going guy, wore his heart on his sleeve, uncomplicated—and in most ways, hinata is very uncomplicated. he’s uncomplicated in the way he loves volleyball more than breathing, in the way he always brings a souvenir back for his sister no matter where they travel, in the way he diligently calls his mother every other night. his actions and words are incredibly candid and straightforward. if hinata was any more honest, he’d be digging ditches for himself, but in this moment, atsumu can’t tell what hinata’s hiding. 

“what’re you thinking, shouyou? think we’re soulmates?” atsumu teases, leaning against the edge of the table with a wink. this is still a date after all. 

hinata peels his eyes away from the window and stares at atsumu with cracked amber eyes, glossy and solid, little sun flares peeking through the gaps. atsumu feels a chasm open up in his stomach, feels his dinner fall straight through into a void. atsumu is not radiant enough for this literal star carving his own path through the inky void of space. 

“no… i was just thinking how i hate the idea of soulmates.” 

atsumu shoves some bread into his mouth, trembles at the lightning in hinata’s eyes. this date is an absolute bust. 

* * *

when hinata sees oikawa’s post about being a starting setter for the olympics, part of him wonders why it isn’t atsumu or kageyama. on his third read, hinata finally realizes that oikawa’s not wearing red. he’s wearing vibrant blue with yellow lining, like a cloudless day. the post hinata saw of oikawa with an argentinian passport a few months ago makes a lot more sense now. 

when hinata finally processes that oikawa is the starting setter for not japan, he wonders why oikawa didn’t tell him first. he scours his text messages to see if oikawa messaged him and he just missed it, relistens to all of his voice mails, but they’re all dated from months before he even got his passport. 

“kageyama, do you believe in soulmates?” hinata asks while they’re folding the net down. 

“soulmates? not really, why?” he says, bringing one end of the net together with hinata. 

“i don’t know. it’s just been something i’ve been thinking about lately. don’t worry about it.” 

kageyama scowls. 

“did you see the roster for the olympics?” hinata says.

“yeah.” there’s a pause between the two of them. they both know who they’ll be facing, kageyama’s senpai—the man he looked up to since middle school; hinata’s… something, the man that slithered into his skin and whispered sweet promises that neither of them were apt to keep. 

“he changed nationalities,” hinata mutters. 

“it makes sense,” kageyama says. “he’s always admired argentina’s team. his idol came from that team. he was very passionate about them, so i’m not surprised that he’d want to play for them.” 

that’s not what hinata’s surprised about. he’s surprised oikawa never told him. then again, why did oikawa have to tell him anything? they weren’t dating. one fuck in a four-star hotel room in south america didn’t obligate oikawa to do anything aside from tell him he had a good time, but why does it bother hinata so much that oikawa didn’t care to tell him? the phantom memory of oikawa’s fingers combing through his hair make a shiver go down his spine. when he left brazil, he looked like he was about to throw it all away for hinata even though they were just a fling. but he texted like hinata was just another connection to volleyball he had to maintain relations with. 

what happens in brazil stays in brazil, he guesses. 

hinata’s stomach churns. the last message he sent oikawa was that he beat kageyama in the schweiden adlers vs msby black jackals match. oikawa sent him a congratulatory text, and that was the end of that. 

he hasn’t heard oikawa’s actual voice in years. 

“he never had any intention of coming back.” 

“stop thinking so hard,” kageyama mutters, gathering the net in his arms to put it away. 

kageyama doesn’t know the details of what happened in brazil, but he can guess. hinata’s insinuated as much. kageyama’s known hinata for a long time now, and he’s only ever seen hinata like this a few sparse times—when he first met bokuto at that tokyo training camp and wouldn’t stop fidgeting, when he spoke with sakusa in passing at the spring nationals and blushed pink, when he and hinata were on a midnight jog in a city they didn’t know and held hands to keep warm on the way back. kageyama had had that same look after ushijima offered to make him soup when he got sick. he can guess what’s going on between hinata and oikawa, but the problem is that oikawa is in argentina right now and hinata is here. they’re worlds apart and nowhere near close to letting each other know what they’re thinking. 

“hey, we’re playing against them, you know,” kageyama says. “if you mess up, i’ll bury you alive.” 

hinata laughs, shaking off his nerves and the idea of meeting a guy he had a fling with in brazil years ago, tries to rid himself of the fantasies of them hooking up again in tokyo (maybe this time with a happier ending). kageyama watches the sheen of his eyes glaze over, hazy, daydreaming. he’s glad that their jerseys are red. if oikawa rips hinata’s heart out during the olympics, at least it won’t stain their uniform. 

* * *

olympics in tokyo is hell. tokyo is already a dense and crowded place, and with the addition of even more tourists aimlessly wandering around, it’s suddenly twice as busy and more hectic than iwaizumi’s ever seen it. the one nice thing about the olympics taking place in tokyo is that iwaizumi knows where all the stores are and where to go quickly for his supplies. nearly an hour before their match, sakusa begged him to make a trip to the store to get some tape. 

“i thought we brought enough tape for everyone,” iwaizumi says, making sure he has his wallet. 

“we did—and then bokuto and atsumu used all of it last night making stupid faces at each other,” sakusa hisses, glaring at the two buffoons doing stretches. atsumu keeps leaning over and jabbing at bokuto’s thighs while he was stretching, making bokuto squeal and try to do the same back to him. despite being on the national team and nearing their mid-20s, these boys still end up being actual children. 

“alright, i’ll be right back. make sure bokuto doesn’t try to climb on atsumu’s shoulder. he can’t get it hurt before a game,” he says. he doesn’t understand how those two aren’t shaking out of their shoes from the nerves. even hinata had gone quiet in preparation for such a big game, though, from what kageyama has been hinting, it’s not necessarily the game that’s got hinata quiet. 

iwaizumi makes his purchase without hassle and with efficiency. on the way back into the gym, he’s bodied by a solid chest and thick arms. the warmth is familiar, like a space heater during winter in miyagi. argentina’s setter laughs like his best friend, but he’s so much bigger and his hair is shorter. 

“iwa-chan!” oikawa sings, still just as sickenly cute as the day he left for argentina. 

“oikawa—was wondering when i’d run into you,” he laughs, ruffling his sweat-wet hair and knocking shoulders. 

“what’re you doing around here? shouldn’t you be with your team?” oikawa asks, pulling away to examine iwaizumi properly. he’s got roughly the same build, still in shape and keeping his form. oikawa wonders if he’s still practicing his line shots in between making sure japan’s team doesn’t fall apart. 

“sakusa asked me to buy more tape. it seems we ran out.” 

oikawa smiles fondly at him. “i’m glad to see you, iwa-chan. we should get dinner.” 

“iwa-chan?” a voice says, clearly not japanese or fluent in japanese. 

iwaizumi turns his head and suddenly a whole team is rushing up to him. there’s a flurry of questions that iwaizumi can’t understand: 

_ “is this the famous iwa-chan?”  _

_ “oh, this is iwa-chan?”  _

_ “i always imagined iwa-chan to be smaller.”  _

_ “iwa-chan is very cute!”  _

oikawa can’t help the wide smile on his face as he shows off his best friend to his entire team. his team members try to greet iwaizumi in japanese before they realize iwaizumi actually speaks english. after a few minutes, oikawa shoos his members away. 

“go practice! we have a game soon!” he exclaims. he gets head pats and hair ruffles, and oikawa can’t help but giggle to himself before wrapping an arm around iwaizumi’s shoulder and steering him away to talk more privately. 

“you really like them, huh,” iwaizumi says, happy to see oikawa smiling so much. 

“yeah, they’re a lot of fun.” 

“hinata told me you guys are having dinner.” 

oikawa’s smile tightens. “yeah. i saw him earlier.” 

the lead up to this moment is not dramatic or particularly big. it started on any other night that you call a friend just to talk—too late at night and trying not to eat yourself sick with sweets. oikawa had talked iwaizumi’s ear off into the early morning about nothing and everything all at once just weeks before his flight to japan. 

“i’m afraid to see him again,” oikawa confessed. “i haven’t texted him in a few years.” 

it shouldn’t be a big deal, and it really wasn’t a big deal because it was hinata shouyou, sunshine incarnate and an absolute delight at all events—but this was hinata shouyou, an earth-bound star with the power and ambition to leave you breathless with just a gaze. 

“why’re you so nervous?” iwaizumi asked. “all you did was sleep together, right?” 

oikawa bit his lower lip. on paper, yes—they just slept together, but he flushed remembering how hinata clinged to him before he left, the way oikawa wanted to crawl back into his arms, and how he spoke to hinata like… like they actually had a chance. 

oikawa didn’t really date, so he has no idea why he spoke like that to hinata. even after he’d left brazil, he became staler in their texts, blaming his unresponsiveness on volleyball and training, restraining himself from saying anything cringey—because that wasn’t cool. it wasn’t cool to be infatuated with your middle school kouhai’s classmate. their texts ceased altogether after hinata went back to japan and won one of his many competitions with kageyama. oikawa didn’t even know if he should text hinata about his new passport, thinking it might be a little too out of pocket to say, “hey! just so you know, i changed my nationality, so i’m not coming back to japan like… ever!” 

they would never play for the same team.

iwaizumi pats oikawa on the shoulder. “don’t lead him on, tooru,” he nearly growls. “not him. you can’t do that to him.” 

oikawa clenches his jaw and pats iwaizumi back. “don’t worry, hajime. i’m just taking him to dinner and it’ll be fine. besides, i don’t do long distance.” 

“if you have no intentions of anything happening, don’t sleep with him, alright? don’t hurt him.” 

“wow, i’m jealous. why aren’t you this protective of me?” 

“because you’re an asshole.” 

* * *

“did you date anyone after me?”

“we didn’t date.” the answer is quick and a little curt. oikawa brushes off the attitude and leans forward on the table with his chin in his hands and a cheeky grin.

“okay, well did you date anyone after  _ sleeping  _ with me?”

hinata pauses this time. his fingers keep playing with a crease in the tablecloth.“atsumu took me to dinner once, but i don’t think he had fun.” 

“what happened?”

“i asked him if he thought soulmates were real, and then i told him i hated the idea of soulmates.” 

oikawa bursts out laughing. leave it to hinata shouyou to defy the stars and gods and every other being out there just to get his way. he is more than a mountain mover; he’s a fucking star shaker. he grips comets by their tails and rearranges the universe in a way that better suits his movements, and when the universe doesn’t comply—then what? he would rather cut the fates’ string and wrap it around his own throat than follow down its red thread path. 

there’s something romantic about that kind of hubris. 

“did you?” 

oikawa looks up and finds himself lost in the swirls of hinata’s eyes, illuminated by candle light and the lowlights of the restaurant.

“did i what?” he asks. 

“did you date anyone?”

date is not the right word. oikawa tooru doesn’t date, and he certainly didn’t date when he was in argentina. as much as he’d like to pretend he was some cool, sauve foreigner in south america, he didn’t have much time to meet new people with all of his practices and other interests going on. there were one or two club flings that gave him a blowjob at most, but nothing compared even close to what he and hinata could accomplish.

“no.”

“good.” 

a shiver runs down oikawa’s spine and makes his inner thighs tingle. he must be a masochist. there were plenty of people to date and fuck, and yet all he could think about was being devoured by living, manifested star hinata shouyou. 

“what are we?” hinata asks when they finally make it into oikawa’s hotel room, shirt already on the ground, pants half buckled. 

iwaizumi’s voice is in the back of his mind, screaming not to do anything stupid, not to say anything stupid. he shouldn’t lead hinata on. he shouldn’t have taken him back to his hotel room, shouldn’t have pressed their chests together. he shouldn’t have gone to dinner with hinata, but who could resist the gravity of the sun? 

“what do you mean?” he feigns ignorance. he doesn’t want to admit that there’s more to this than just sex, but hinata’s catching on. once is a gleeful happenstance. twice is a budding habit. what will happen the third time?

“what’s our relationship?” 

oikawa tightens his fingers in his hair for a moment, pulls him close so that they’re hip to hip. hopefully, hinata can’t feel how fast his heart is beating, can’t see the hesitation in his eyes.  _ forbidden  _ is on the tip of his tongue. other words that line up to be said are  _ unfated, tragic _ —but he ends up whispering, “whatever you want us to be. i just want it to be fun.”

the answer seems to satisfy hinata for the moment, and they fall into bed like old lovers. the next morning, oikawa panics when he sees sunlight streaming through the window and feels a warm body snuggled against his back. 

“shouyou, get up,” oikawa hisses, falling out of bed and pulling the sheets off of hinata’s legs. “get up, get up! iwa-chan will kill me if you don’t get your ass up right now.” 

hinata groans, stretches an arm to feel for oikawa, but he’s left the bed already. the spot where his body used to lay is still warm, and hinata whines as he shifts into the spot, purring contently as he feels the warmth of the sheet against his chest, as if somehow that were a perfect substitute for oikawa’s skin against his own. 

“shouyou, seriously, get up. you have to be at the bus station in less than an hour,” oikawa scolds, throws a pair of rolled up socks at the half asleep lump. 

hinata rubs his eyes open, finds himself staring at oikawa crouched on the ground in a bathrobe and boxers, trying to fit all of shouyou’s toiletries into his bag. he contemplates missing his bus. he could get a bus back later in the day, spend just a few more hours with oikawa. though, that would mean he’s late for practice, but the team would understand, right? 

“shouyou, you need to get up,” oikawa says again, storming over to the bed. he pushes at hinata’s shoulder to get him to roll over and get up, but hinata snatches oikawa’s wrists and yanks him down. oikawa’s a stalwart man now, years of athleticism behind him and a broad build that allows him to withstand powerful spikes, but hinata’s grown too. he’s got equally broad shoulders and a sturdy body trained by brazil’s beaches and the unrelenting prowess of japan’s monster generation behind him. oikawa forgets hinata has unrestrained strength hidden beneath that tanned skin, and he tumbles into bed, catching himself with a hand on each side of hinata’s head. he doesn’t have time to readjust himself and stabilize before hinata’s lips are on his. 

“get back in bed with me?” he begs like a lost prayer. 

simple words, simple requests—oikawa wants to shed his skin and give in. even after all these years, the simplicity in hinata’s bones, the raw honesty in his voice has oikawa defenseless. they’re several years older and zero years wiser. oikawa can hear the crash of waves outside of the hotel window, but they’re speaking a different language. if he closes his eyes, he could pretend this was brazil again. 

oikawa sends a silent apology to iwaizumi and answers hinata’s prayer with a kiss of his own, pressing hinata back into the mattress. hinata’s leg hooks around the back of oikawa’s knee and he flips them, manages to push oikawa down. this isn’t going the way oikawa wanted it to. he’s the older of the two. he should have more restraint than this and get hinata to get to his bus on time, but hinata’s pressing the softest, greediest kisses to oikawa’s neck, and oikawa can’t help but submit. 

hinata’s got his fingertips teasing the elastic of oikawa’s boxers, and oikawa’s got his hips canting up into the touch. oikawa only regains his senses when his phone suddenly starts ringing loudly. oikawa pushes hinata off of him, scrambles to his feet as he tries to catch his breath and shoves his semi back down his pants. 

“i-iwa-chan.” 

“where the fuck is my spiker, shittykawa?” 

oikawa is caught between wanting to laugh at iwaizumi’s cruel yet nostalgic nickname and going back to kissing the boy in his bed. he opts to laugh nervously as he watches hinata get out of bed and strut toward him.

“he’s here. he’s here—he’s getting up,” oikawa says, hoping hajime doesn’t hear the tremble in his voice. he puts his hand to hinata’s chest, tries to keep him at bay, but hinata grips oikawa’s hips and presses their bodies flush together, buries his face into oikawa’s neck and leaves butterfly kisses on his shoulder. oikawa concedes and takes his free hand, wraps it around hinata’s shoulder and rubs his upper back soothingly, glad that he’s not trying to do anything naughty while oikawa’s on the phone. 

“i’ve been trying to call him all morning. he’s got a bus to get to in thirty minutes.” 

“phone died,” hinata mumbles.

“he says his phone died.”

“well he better be here on time, or i’ll—”

“he’ll be there.” 

“i’ll be there,” hinata interjects at the same time. “i’ll run back if i have to, iwaizumi-san.” 

iwaizumi grumbles on the other end of the line for a moment more before he hangs up. oikawa lets out a sigh and rests his cheek against hinata’s temple.

“come on, shouyou. get dressed,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder would make the tick of the clock go by faster. 

chirping birds fill the silence as hinata changes clothes and brushes his teeth. he shoves the remnants of his clothes into his suitcase and closes it up. oikawa watches him from his spot leaning against the hotel desk, unable to take his eyes off of hinata walking back and forth packing his things. 

last time, hinata was the one watching him pack his things and zipping his life into a 30-by-19-inch suitcase. did hinata feel this helpless watching oikawa leave like this? without thinking, oikawa walks over to hinata and crouches behind him. he wraps his arms around his shoulders and hugs him tight, draping himself over hinata’s back like a cape. 

“what’re you doing?” hinata asks, trying to turn his head to look at oikawa, but he hides his face in hinata’s neck. 

“nothing,” he mutters. “wanted to hug you before you go.” 

hinata brings a hand up and caresses the side of oikawa’s head, pries him away from his neck so he can kiss his cheek. oikawa obliges and gives him a quick peck on the lips as well. hinata finally zips his suitcase close and stands up, oikawa following him to the door. 

“when will i see you again?” hinata asks.

“don’t be so serious,” oikawa laughs. his chest is too tight for it to come out as more than a puff of air. “there’s still a few days left, but… i guess after that, it’s whenever the next international tournament is.” 

a stillness hangs between them. neither of them breathe or speak for a moment as if both knowing and acknowledging that this should be the last time. this  _ has  _ to be the last time—because hinata has to go beat kageyama at his stupid little competitions and oikawa has to be love crushed. that’s just how the universe is supposed to work, isn’t it? 

“one more kiss?” hinata pleads, taking half a step closer to oikawa.

he should step away, should be the good one between them and let hinata go, let him go back to his team, to his dream, to his pursuit. his competition with kageyama is still ongoing, and oikawa would be damned if he got in the way of that—but hinata’s got an arm around his waist and dragging oikawa to his body. hinata’s lips crash into his before he knows what’s going on. 

he throws his arm around hinata’s neck and melts into the kiss, lets hinata lick into his mouth and responds with the same enthusiasm. the mint of hinata’s toothpaste is fresh on oikawa’s tongue. hinata drops his bag and lets go of the doorknob. he grips oikawa’s bare waist, presses his face into oikawa’s neck and starts nipping at the skin. 

oikawa’s legs feel like he’s jumped to the sun and back a million times, shaking and ready to buckle at any second. as if hinata could feel the strength seeping away from oikawa’s legs, he grabs him by the thighs and hoists him up until their thighs rest against each other. hinata uses the wall behind oikawa to keep him steady as he presses more kisses down his neck and to his chest now. 

“sh-shouyou,” oikawa breathes, carding his fingers through hinata’s hair. it’s grown out a little bit and he can grip it properly now. “shouyou, you have to go.” 

“hm.” hinata raises his chin and gives oikawa the softest kiss, swipes his tongue along his bottom lip. 

the walls come crashing down. oikawa holds hinata’s face in his hands, leaning down to reciprocate the kiss. his lips burn and tingle; kissing hinata is like kissing a star. he pulls away and stares at those burnt-amber eyes, the golden highlights at the edges, the streaks of obsidian. there are canyons oikawa wants to wander around and get lost in. his phone starts ringing again, and he feels like crying. 

hinata reluctantly pulls away, grabbing his bag off the floor and yanking the door open. 

“call me some time. i miss your voice—and you don’t do long distance,” hinata says as he pecks oikawa’s lips like he’s just going to his day job and he’ll be back home before oikawa knows it. 

oikawa’s not sure whether to take hinata’s words as a jab or just a simple statement, but either way, his heart squeezes and bleeds out regret. this is what he gets for being selfish. oikawa watches hinata sprint down the hallway with his duffle bag and round the corner. once he’s gone, he finally closes the door. his legs give out as he leans against the wall and tries to keep himself from falling over, his body still thrumming with the heat of hinata’s kisses. he feels like crying, but he forces the feeling down his throat until it’s a stone in his throat. when someone knocks at his door, he’s shaking a little less.

“toto, are you up? we’re going to eat before practice. coming?” his captain asks. 

“yeah—let… let me just get dressed,” he says, hurriedly pulling his bathrobe closed and letting him inside. 

his captain looks around the room for a moment, notices the messed up sheets and the haphazard clothes. oikawa’s not the kind to just leave things strewn about, and he’s only ever seen his hotel room look like this a few other times.

“did he leave?” he asks. 

oikawa swallows over the lump in his throat. 

“yeah…” 

“hey, you know what we say?”

“hm?”

_ “ _ _ amor de lejos, amor de pendejos.” _

oikawa laughs and tackles the captain. “i’m not in love. this isn’t anything.” 

he hums, a deep rumble from his chest. “bullshit.” 

they laugh again and tussle playfully for a second before oikawa gets dressed. they pat each other on the back and head out the door. all throughout breakfast, oikawa tries not to think about how hinata’s cinnamon starburst taste lingers in his mouth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on [twitter!](http://twitter.com/xixuwus)


	3. Chapter 3

it’s not often that the five of them get to hang out together. between tsukishima’s job and volleyball practices, kageyama’s travel schedule, and yachi’s intense dedication to her internship, plans kept falling through the cracks with “sorry, i have work” or “i really need to finish this project”. it’s not like hinata and yamaguchi weren’t busy as well either, so none of them have even had the time to think about hanging out together, but hinata would be damned if they didn’t get to have dinner at least one time this year. hinata was surprised to say the least when all four of his high school friends showed up to the restaurant, and he ended up drinking until he was nearly sick. 

“look, i already paid for the tab and he’s your teammate, so you take him home,” tsukishima says, shoving hinata into kageyama’s arms.

“what? why me? my house is way further than yours!” 

“yeah, but kuroo-san is at home wearing pink lingerie and waiting for me, so he’s yours.” 

kageyama blushes. “h-how do you know ushijima-san isn’t at home in the same?” 

“because we all clearly know it would be  _ you  _ in the lingerie.” 

from the looks on yachi and yamaguchi’s faces, this was not universal knowledge.

“plus we all know ushijima-san went to america to visit his father,” yamaguchi adds, trying to get their loud conversation off of the lingerie topic before it went down a raunchier path. 

kageyama groans and shifts hinata’s arm around his shoulder to hold him more steadily. hinata’s not the thin, frail kid he used to know. he’s all dense muscle and fucking dead weight. 

“whatever. i hope you choke,” kageyama snarls at tsukishima.

“oh thank you, i will.” 

yamaguchi screams about how uncouth tsukishima is, yachi hiding her face in her palms as they leave kageyama to deal with hinata. 

“when you wake up, i’m gonna kill you,” he mutters. 

“noooo you won’t~” hinata giggles, trying his best not to trip over his feet. 

“you idiot. why’d you drink so much?” kageyama flags down a taxi, manages to get hinata inside without much protest. 

“felt like drinkin’.” 

“you really felt it. you drank the whole place dry. you better thank tsukishima tomorrow. he paid for all of it.” 

“thankssss, tssssssuki—ma~” 

“he’s not here. thank him tomorrow.” 

hinata hums softly and rests his temple against kageyama’s shoulder. 

“i hate you,” he mutters softly. 

“what?”

“i hate you.” 

“you don’t, but why’re you saying that?”

“i hate you… because of you, i can’t be oikawa-san’s soulmate.” 

_ this again?  _

kageyama grips hinata’s face in his hands. “soulmates aren’t a real thing, dumbass.” 

hinata’s eyes are broken supernovas, exploded bits of golden sun flares and dark red shards that stab into kageyama’s heart. 

“what’s this about? what happened? you were fine all night up until now.” 

hinata swats kageyama’s hands away and rests his temple against kageyama’s shoulder. “how’d you… and ushijima get together?” he asks. 

“he took me on a date. we went to dinner together,” kageyama says.

hinata hums. the only person who ever took him out to dinner was atsumu. in hindsight, that was a date, wasn’t it. atsumu picked him up from the apartment and even paid the bill that night. come to think of it, oikawa took hinata to dinner several times. would they also call that a date? 

“did you fuck after?” hinata asks. 

kageyama sputters, eyes darting between the driver and hinata, appalled that hinata would so boldly ask such a personal question in the presence of a stranger. 

“idiot! shut up!” he hisses, jostling his shoulder so hinata understands how inappropriate he’s being. 

“okay, but answer the question.” 

kageyama scrunches his nose and huffs. “no. my boyfriend’s a gentleman. we didn’t do it until the third date.” 

hinata pouts and sinks into the taxi seat. kageyama pats hinata’s head, runs his fingers through his hair. hinata can smell sea salt. “what’s wrong?” kageyama asks, voice barely above a whisper, lips pressing into his hair. “what’re you thinking about?” 

before hinata can think of what he’s really upset about, he throws up on kageyama’s pants.

* * *

iwaizumi’s on a midnight run when he sees someone on the beach. he’d decided to run on the path by the beach and enjoy a different scenery from the usual parks. this late at night, there weren’t as many people crowding the piers, but it seems this person on the beach had the same idea. iwaizumi stares at the figure, wondering why the silhouette looks so familiar—standing like wings were supposed to sprout from his shoulder blades, toned thighs ready to take off. 

if iwaizumi hadn’t known the golden glow of the figure’s hair, he would’ve thought he met icarus himself. 

iwaizumi makes a beeline for the beach, curious why hinata was out on the beach at this time of night. 

“hinata!” he calls.

he turns around slowly, the moonlight downplaying the highlights in his eyes and showcasing his dark pupils. “iwaizumi-san… what are you doing here?” he asks.

“i should ask you the same thing,” he says. 

“i… just got off the phone with oikawa-san.” 

_ oh fuck. _ iwaizumi takes a seat on the sand, gesturing for hinata to do the same. “what happened?”

“i don’t really remember what we talked about. i just… missed his voice.” 

iwaizumi smiles to himself. it amazes him that there’s someone out there that actually likes hearing oikawa ramble. 

“iwaizumi-san, do you believe in soulmates?”

“yeah. it’s a complicated thing, but i like to think there’s someone out there that completes you.”

“oikawa-san… years ago, he said that kageyama and i were soulmates.”

iwaizumi almost laughs. he really said that to hinata’s face? while the evidence there is undeniable, oikawa might as well have just told hinata that they’d never have a chance at a relationship, and knowing oikawa, he had said it right after sex—the idiot. 

however, if hinata is trying to disprove that fact, he’s challenging himself to a fight with age-old gods. iwaizumi isn’t a devout faith believer, but if he believed anything, he believed kageyama and hinata have something innately similar in their very foundations, a connection that no one else could touch—not even they have been able to alter it. 

maybe that’s what oikawa was thinking of. 

“what about you? do you think you and kageyama are soulmates?”

“i don’t know. i don’t understand it. oikawa-san kept saying soulmates don’t need to be lovers, they just need to be made of the same stuff, but i don’t know what that means. kageyama and i… we’re really different, aren’t we? we don’t even get along half the time and we fight a lot, so i don’t get how we can be soulmates. plus he’s dating ushijima, so i don’t understand. oikawa said no matter what, i was always going to go back to kageyama. but kageyama and i have never dated. he keeps saying these things, and i don’t understand him.” 

iwaizumi sighs. ah, this is complicated. lucky for him, iwaizumi understands oikawa’s train of thought. maybe in their own way, oikawa and iwaizumi were soulmates as well, able to communicate with just a look and know what the other is thinking. even across the ocean, iwaizumi can imagine what oikawa’s been up to. their minds and their hearts fall in place, beat for beat, step for step. that’s a soulmate, but hinata might not see it that way. hinata is enigmatic in the way he thinks—simple, but at the same time, complex. 

oikawa’s an asshole for introducing this concept to hinata. 

“it doesn’t have anything to do with dating,” he says. “tooru… he’s got something in his heart that eats at him all the time, and maybe this is one of those things eating at him recently, but… it’s not about dating.” well, a little bit of it is about dating. “tooru is the kind of person who wants to be  _ it _ . the center of attention—an attention whore, really, but you… you made a promise to kageyama, to follow him anywhere and beat him.”

“so does he want me to stop competing with kageyama?”

“no, no—listen, it’s not about that. he just… he wants you.” 

“he doesn’t do long distance.” the answer comes so fast iwaizumi wonders if hinata had been waiting for the right moment to say it. 

the text oikawa sent him right after the olympics makes sense now:  _ “he made me eat my own fucking words.”  _ it’s one of the many things hinata excels at. 

“i know he likes me,” hinata mutters, picking up a handful of sand and watching it slip through his fingers, “so why won’t he just say it?” 

iwaizumi has had his fair share of broken hearts and introspective soul searches while in california, but he never expected hinata to be someone who would take relationships so seriously; then again, he was the kind of person who was made out of mystery dust and starlight—or so oikawa keeps telling him. nevertheless, what iwaizumi sees is that hinata has these dark circles under his eyes and spends a lot of time staring at the sky. if iwaizumi didn’t know any better, he’d call it heartbreak. 

“i think you need a good night’s sleep,” iwaizumi finally says, patting hinata on the head. “and a vacation.” 

hinata ends up taking iwaizumi’s advice and books a flight to miami. tokyo is dense, but miami is a whole different story. the streets are crowded, cars everywhere, roads both freshly paved and dilapidated, and every corner hinata turns there’s another starbucks. did these people get tired of drinking the same kind of coffee all the time? 

when hinata had bought his plane ticket, he didn’t have a plan for what to do once he arrived. he figured he’d find a volleyball, some sand, some people, and then call it a day, but that’s something he could also do at home. he was supposed to be on vacation, so no volleyball—iwaizumi’s orders. 

hinata ends up at a convenience store trying to figure out if the store sells any drinks aside from soda and too-sweet teas. with his rough portugese and even rougher english, the conversation is getting nowhere, and he’s sure the clerk is about to absolutely pummel him for taking so much time. thankfully, a stranger who happens to know basic portugese saves his ass and explains where the rest of the drinks are while hinata tries to laugh off that he’s just a tourist with no knowledge of anything. 

it’s almost like brazil all over again. hinata ends up staying with this stranger, alejandro, for the few days he’s vacationing in miami. he shows hinata to some of the local museums and to some restaurants. hinata asks about disney, and alejandro calls him  _ puta _ .

“that’s in orlando, idiot. it’s four hours from here, but we can go if you really want,” he says.

hinata contemplates it, but then decides against it after hearing about the ludicrous ticket prices. 

“you still have no plans tonight, right?” alejandro asks on one of hinata’s last days in miami. 

“no,” he says tentatively, partially because he’s not sure if he fully understood the question. for the few days he’s spent with alejandro, it’s still hard to follow his speech pattern, what with the way he switches between accents and words hinata has never heard before.

“good!” 

they end up at a nightclub… day club? to be honest, hinata doesn’t really know what kind of club it is, but in an almost rapidfire half english, half spanish, a friend of alejandro’s explains to him that clubs in miami can open as early as ten in the morning and close as late as five in the morning. that leaves about five hours for you to sleep between the closing of one club and the opening of another, which means you could essentially party for nearly 24 hours straight. so hinata ends up at this night/day club that’s packed to its teeth in dancing, sweaty bodies and sticky booze. girls flock around him as they grab onto his muscles, surprised at how stock he is for someone so short. they smell like clove cigars and sunscreen spray. 

someone must’ve said that he speaks spanish because that’s all they speak to him when they try to flirt or ask his name. 

“shouyou,” he says.

“so… so-yu?” 

the bass of the music shakes hinata’s rib cage. 

“no—shouyou. call me shou.” 

the girls laugh and try to figure it out between the three of them amongst other conversation that hinata can’t understand. alejandro says that one of the girls is asking about his hobbies. he tries to explain by saying volleyball in three languages, hoping at least one of them will recognize one of the languages between their cotton-drunk ears. the girl wearing a skin-tight yellow dress exclaims that she understands what he’s trying to say, repeating  _ vóleibol  _ over and over again for the other girls who are half stumbling on their red pump heels or clinging too heavily to each other’s elbows; they giggle about meeting a real athlete and end up making that his nickname. 

they flirt between asking him about where he’s from and how long he’s played volleyball as they continue teaching him how to dance with his hips and handing him drink after colorful drink. it almost feels like carnival with the large amounts of sweaty people and the loud music. pedro took him the first year he was in brazil, decided that showing him was much easier than trying to explain it to a kid who had just freshly traveled halfway around the world and been thrust into an entirely different culture. 

“ _ vóleibol! vóleibol! _ ” one of alejandro’s friends shouts, grabbing him by his upper arm, fingers bruising his bicep not knowing their drunk brute strength. hinata barely has time to excuse himself before he’s dragged through a tight crowd until they reach the other end of the dance floor.

“what is it?” he asks in japanese, too panicked to pick a language properly. 

“some guy! he’s like you!” 

hinata frowns, confused. like him as in… “a tourist”? or like him as in “mostly interested in men”—because as nice as those girls are, hinata could barely handle looking at them with their brazen tits out. the stranger shoves hinata toward a tall, broad-shouldered man. he’s wearing sky blue. 

“shouyou.” 

ah… like him as in… a japanese volleyball player in the same dingy club in miami. little did these people know that the world gets smaller and smaller every time hinata travels, and this guy isn’t a japanese citizen anymore. 

“oikawa-san.” a hole opens up in his stomach. 

“do you know each other already?” the stranger asks.

“yeah,” oikawa breathes. “we know each other very well. excuse us—” 

hinata makes to grab for his stranger friend, a silent plea not to leave him alone with the one man hellbent on squeezing his dexterous fingers through his fragile rib cage to grip his beating heart and take it for his own, but the alcohol made him a little slow, and oikawa snatches hinata’s wrist before he can turn. they lose the friends hinata was hanging out with in the crowd as oikawa drags him toward the bar. 

“what’re you doing here?” hinata asks, trying not to think about how cool oikawa is with his shirt half buttoned as he leans on the counter and orders a couple of drinks. 

“my team and i went to cuba for a practice game, and it’s just a day to take a boat to miami so we decided to spend a few nights here,” he says, handing a drink to hinata. “what are you doing here? you keep popping up everywhere i go.” 

hinata chuckles, sheepish as he almost tries to drown himself with the drink oikawa bought him. “iwaizumi-san told me to take a vacation, so i came here. i’m not supposed to think about volleyball.”  _ or you. _

oikawa grips hinata’s wrist, forcing him to take a breath between his sips. “don’t drink so fast,” he says. “you’ll make yourself sick.” he brings hinata’s hand around his neck; once his hand is free, he slides his fingers through hinata’s hair at the base of his skull. the familiarity has hinata leaning into the touch and yearning for more. 

“come dance with me,” oikawa says. hinata reads his words more than hears them, what with the music and his heartbeat deafening his ears. 

oikawa drags hinata back to the dance floor, finds themselves in the middle of too many wriggling bodies. he wants to stop holding this drink, wants to bury both his hands into oikawa’s hair. the hole in hinata’s stomach disappears after a couple of songs. there’s no room to talk or discuss, much less any room to breathe considering hinata’s got someone’s ass pressing against his lower back and making him move closer and closer to oikawa with every sway of his hips. hinata’s confusion over oikawa’s actions are lost in the confusion of half-dancing and half-drunk swaying. he’s not sure when it happens, but he spills his entire drink on oikawa’s shirt, probably too drunk-stupid and still thinking about wrapping both of his arms around oikawa.

“you’re a mess, shouyou,” oikawa laughs, finding a nearby table and setting their drinks down. 

the moment hinata’s hands are free, he grabs oikawa by the front of his shirt, claws until oikawa is bent enough for him to climb on his toes to kiss him hard. 

fuck whatever iwaizumi said. third time’s a charm. 

hinata crowds oikawa up against the wall beside the table, nips his lower lip and presses his tongue inside his mouth. he tastes like pineapple and alcohol. oikawa grips hinata’s hips, pulls him close as hinata catches his breath between kisses. his fingers travel up his sides, just barely teasing the hem of his shirt to ride up. a shiver runs down hinata’s spine when oikawa’s cold fingers press against the last row of his ribs. stupid dexterous fingers—he didn’t need to be so discreet; the cage to hinata’s heart is already unlocked. 

“let’s get outta here,” hinata suggests, tugging at oikawa’s wrist. 

oikawa makes no protest, stumbles after hinata and giggles as they trip their way out of the club. on their way out, one of the girls hinata had been hanging out with stops them, asks in half spanish and half english where they’re going. before hinata can even process the question, oikawa slings his arm over his shoulder and grabs his face in one hand. he moves hinata’s face to tilt up and kisses him hard on the lips. 

“ _ lo siento, él es mío. _ ” 

hinata has no idea what oikawa’s said, but the subtle growl and breathiness of his delivery has hinata’s legs shaking. by the time he finally manages to roughly translate the words, hinata is between oikawa’s legs leaving teeth marks and bruises. 

“what are we?” hinata asks.

oikawa wraps his hand around hinata’s shoulder, buries his fingers in his hair at the back of his head. once is a gleeful happenstance. twice is a budding habit. 

thrice isn’t mindless sex anymore. 

“we’re…” 

_ we’re fucked _ is what oikawa actually wants to say. hinata seems to have picked up mindreading, because he just stares at oikawa for a long moment before going back down between his legs. 

hinata almost forgets that he has to go back to japan, go back to his own volleyball team, go back to kageyama and their stupid competition. he’s come to hate morning sunshine and the feel of hotel sheets, the way they’re too smooth and too thin; comes to hate the way he has to cling to the body next to him in order to feel some sort of warmth. morning always brought a new day, new activities, new places to go to—and old places to return to. once again, he is leaving oikawa. 

“i have to go,” hinata breathes. he doesn’t sound like he means it. he makes no move to shove oikawa off his waist; in fact, he wraps his arms around oikawa and holds him close. oikawa answers him by tightening his arms around his torso.

“i have to go,” he says again.

“i don’t want you to.” 

the words finally drop like a dead body between them. the push and pull of their bodies have always alluded to their desires, an open secret between the two of them. the words “don’t go” are tattooed on their tongue tips, but they’ve always refused to let it slip—until now. 

hinata presses his face into oikawa’s hair, grips him hard like he’d disappear at any moment. “i have to go,” he says again, voice cracking this time, strained. he doesn’t mean it. 

oikawa’s been jealous of tobio for years—for his natural athleticism, his calculated skills, his technique. oikawa is years older, but kageyama is instinctually sharper, and yet oikawa’s never been more jealous of tobio than in this moment. oikawa could gain those skills and techniques, train himself to death and reach kageyama’s height. he’s already proved his worth, beat him time and time again, surpassed him and proved that he is equal to and better than him—but how could he compete with red string and golden chains bestowed by the universe? 

they’re the same color, the same flame, the same star stuff. oikawa can’t be what they are. no matter what, fate was laughing at him clinging to the chains between twin stars. what did that make oikawa? 

a lost comet, perhaps.

oikawa hasn’t cried in a long time, and he hates that he’s doing this in front of hinata. it’s childish and silly, but he feels like he needs to rip his chest open, break his rib cage and prove to whatever deity that he can be made of the same stuff, that he can compete among angels and gods. he’s worthy to carry sun-gold ichor in his veins and not burn from the inside out. he swears. 

“o-oikawa-san…” hinata breathes. “tooru.” 

oikawa sobs, pressing his face into hinata’s chest. 

“hey, d-don’t…” hinata’s voice is shaking too. oikawa can hear his heartbeat speeding up, can feel his breathing stutter, same as his. 

“fuck…” 

hinata buries his face in oikawa’s hair, wrapping his arms tight around him as they pour the contents of their hearts out, silent sobbed prayers lost in the sound of distant laughter and everyday life. people outside their hotel room were probably on their way into the city to shop, girls flaunting their new jewelry, children excitedly chattering about what ice cream they wanted to eat, and here they were—two foreigners trapped within the same four beige walls they’d been confined to for the past half decade or so. different locations, same bed. 

the universe didn’t care what they wanted, and neither did anyone in this city. 

oikawa pulls away first when he realizes hinata’s stopped hiccuping. his own are finally starting to subside. he stares up at hinata, reaching a hand up to wipe away at the stray tear on his cheek. he shouldn’t have made him cry like this. 

“i don’t want to go,” hinata whispers, his arms tightening around oikawa again. any tighter and hinata might commit third degree murder. 

oikawa slowly, gently, releases himself from hinata’s grip to sit up, hovering over him. they’re approaching their late-20 and early-30 years. they’re not children blindly eating stardust and coughing up the residue that their stomachs can’t muster. they’re adults who have to swallow whole stars even if it kills them.

he leans down and presses a wet kiss to hinata’s lips, lingers for just a second. hinata wraps a hand around the back of oikawa’s heads and keeps him in place, his tongue flicks out to lick at his bottom lip. 

oikawa could cry again. 

“tooru,” hinata says. “do you still believe in soulmates?” 

oikawa wants to laugh. what kind of question is that when kageyama is an ocean away and hinata is going to go back to him in just a few more hours? 

“why’re you asking?” he mutters, readjusting his body to lie against hinata’s more comfortably. their bodies don’t line up, he realizes. his torso is too flat and hinata’s is too curved; their hips are in the wrong spot, and his knees hit against hinata’s shins instead of his thighs. he wishes he could discard his skin and shop for a new one. 

“i asked iwaizumi-san once. he said soulmates don’t have to be lovers.”

“then what about you? do you still think soulmates don’t exist?” oikawa asks, rolling onto his stomach. he rests his chin on hinata’s chest, his hands rubbing up and down his toned sides.

“i changed my mind,” hinata says. “i think soulmates do exist. or fate, at least. something like that.” 

“oh? what made you change your mind?”

hinata looks down at oikawa for a long beat before holding his face in his hands. warm. large, despite how oikawa knows for a fact that hinata’s fingers are a few centimeters shorter than oikawa’s own. 

“only in a world where soulmates exist would i ever keep going back to kageyama instead of staying with you.” 

“shouyou…”

hinata’s eyes are wet, his cracked amber irises opening wide black crevices. oikawa doesn’t want to make him cry again. he scrambles to his knees, sits between hinata’s legs as he pulls him into a sitting hug. he lets hinata hide his face in his chest and they fit like slotted pieces with hinata clinging to oikawa and oikawa becoming a pillar of comfort and support. he pats the back of hinata’s hair until it’s flat, letting him cry his heart out again for the second time. 

oikawa can’t blame hinata for how he feels. it’s the polar end of the same star gravitating toward its counterpart. they’re the same soul, and hinata could be with whoever he wants, fuck whoever he wants, fall in love with whoever he wants, but at the end of time, it’ll be him and kageyama who will be tangled in red thread and move on to the next life together. oikawa doesn’t blame hinata; he blames the universe for giving him such a cursed blessing. 

“i don’t want to go,” he sobs, voice cracking, fingers clinging to oikawa’s sides. 

they stay tangled in each other’s embrace until hinata’s phone alarm goes off, reminding him to get dressed and get to the airport. they continue clinging to each other as he silently and solemnly gets dressed. he once again leaves their four beige walls to return to a world that doesn’t care what he and oikawa have or what they want. 

he gives oikawa one last, desperate kiss, licking his bottom lip and squeezing his waist too tightly. oikawa hopes his fingertips leave a bruise. 

* * *

“iwa-chan… this wasn’t supposed to happen,” oikawa whispers, as if he’s the one who was sleeping next to his significant other and the time was 3 in the goddamn morning. 

iwaizumi sighs on the other end of the line. he rubs his forehead with the palm of his hand, trying to wake up properly to have a decent conversation with this idiot on the other side of the world. “it’s so fucking late for this, shittykawa.” 

“he was in miami! what the fuck? how does that even happen? why does he pop up everywhere? and he said you sent him there? did you fucking know? god, i cried in front of him. that’s so embarrassing.” 

iwaizumi groans, shifting slightly in the bed to get up, but atsumu’s arms around his torso tighten to keep him in place. conceding to his doomed torture of being trapped uncomfortably in bed and on the phone with his loud, hysterical best friend, iwaizumi pulls the blankets over atsumu’s shoulders and snuggles down. if oikawa’s crying wakes atsumu up, he can’t be blamed. 

“that’s not the only thing embarrassing about you. so like… what’re you calling me at this time for?” he asks, playing with atsumu’s hair and admiring his soft locks (surprising, considering how many times he’s bleached it). 

“you said you wanted to hear about my trip to miami when i got back.” 

“i meant at a reasonable hour, not the moment your goddamn plane landed.” 

atsumu groans, burying his face in iwaizumi’s chest, and his heart jumps a little. he really doesn’t want to be talking on the phone with oikawa right now. 

“did you at least confess to him this time?” iwaizumi asks. 

there’s a long silence before oikawa says, “so… define confess.” 

“i’m taking that as a no.” 

“should i have confessed?” 

“the whole reason hinata’s so hung up on this whole situation is because you said you wouldn’t do long distance.” 

“okay, well i’ve changed my mind… sorta. i mean… i don’t want to do long distance. i couldn’t handle him being in japan and me being here, but like… if he was closer, that’d be better, i think. i think i could do it then. but what if he doesn’t think the same? then what do i do?” 

atsumu sighs, breaking free of iwaizumi’s cuddle and grabbing the phone from him. he jabs the screen to put it on speaker. “just text shouyou you like him, oikawa-san.” 

“what the—miya? what the fuck are you doing with iwa-cha—iwaizumi’s house?”

“we’re dating now.” 

“what? since when?”

“since six hours ago—text shouyou. night!” 

iwaizumi’s a little bit enamored by atsumu’s brazen attitude. he rolls him over in their bed and kisses him hard, and if they both show up for work a little bit late tomorrow and with a limp in their step—well… that’s just how it is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on [twitter!](http://twitter.com/xixuwus)


	4. Chapter 4

hinata gets a text at 4am. 

_ i like you.  _

he texts back, eyes half-closed.

_ what the fuck. it’s 4am.  _

_ you’re crushing my heart here, shouyou. is that all you have to say to me? _

hinata groans and rolls around in his bed, bleary eyed and unable to type full sentences properly, much less read them as he continues dropping his phone on his face. he finally gives up on texting and sends a voice message, raspy: “why didn’t you tell me this in miami?” 

oikawa has the decency to realize hinata isn’t opening his eyes anytime soon and sends him a voice message as well. “shouyou, your voice sounds really sexy right now. did i wake you up?” 

hinata’s heart skips a small beat, and he wills himself to stay calm. “why’re you telling me this now?” he sends back. 

“because i would’ve lost courage if i waited too long.” 

hinata smiles to himself, replays the message a second time before he says, “if i said i liked you too, then what would happen?” 

it takes a few minutes for oikawa to send something back this time, a simple: “i don’t know.”

hinata frowns. ah, so he’s still on the long distance thing. “oikawa-san… i think i need some time to think.” 

“okay.” his voice sounds strained, quiet, as if hiding that he’s on the edge of tears or disappointment. 

hinata thumbs over his screen for a few minutes, waiting to see if oikawa will send anything aside from just the okay. biting his lip, he manages to type out one sentence to oikawa, a thought he’d had since he’d talked to iwaizumi: “we don’t need to be made of the same stuff. we just need to choose each other.” 

oikawa tells him to sleep well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on [twitter~](http://twitter.com/xixuwus)


	5. Chapter 5

“toto, stop with that face,” andres says, squishing oikawa’s cheeks in his hand. 

oikawa scrunches his nose and pushes at his chest. in another world, oikawa would’ve really fallen for andres. he was big, kind, really good at volleyball, and always paid for oikawa’s beer. part of him thinks he should’ve taken andres up on that offer to fuck a year ago, but he’d been so hung up about hinata after the olympics that oikawa hadn’t been in the mood. 

(he should really stop sleeping with volleyball players.) 

“i’m not making any face,” he mutters, resting shoulder to shoulder with him. “just tired after the flight.” 

“we’ve had longer flights. this one is normal.” 

it is normal. every few years the team goes to brazil to practice with other teams and participates in a south american training camp. oikawa doesn’t want to admit it, but maybe he was making a face. after all, the last time he came to brazil, he left something very important behind. 

“are you meeting up with your  _ fueguito  _ again?” 

oikawa sputters and punches andres in the arm. “he’s not my  _ fueguito _ , what the heck.” 

“you say that, but everywhere we go, he’s there,” thiago interjects. 

“it happened last time, then the olympics, miami. what’s happening there?” andres adds. 

“ _ puta _ , shut your mouth. nothing’s happening.” 

“or do you  _ want  _ something to happen?”

of course he wants something to happen. he wants hinata to move to argentina and for them to have sex in his own bed for once; he wants to wake up in the morning to familiar walls and not having to rush to the airport or to some televised game. he wants to see hinata more than once every few years and not have to plan when he calls hinata for fear of waking him up. the other day oikawa learned the word  _ el dormilón _ . 

he wants to call hinata  _ el dormilón  _ one day. 

“stop talking about him. he plays for some japanese team anyways.” 

“should he play for our team then?” andres jokes.

“no. it wouldn’t be fun if i can’t play against him. i want to beat him.” 

“he probably thinks the same thing.” 

* * *

brazil is more fun than oikawa remembers it being. maybe it’s because he already knows what places he wants to go to and understands how to eat the foods now (or it’s because he understands portguese a little bit better because of a certain little devil always running his tongue off, but oikawa doesn’t want to think about how he learned the word for “beautiful” from the literal mouth of a multilingual sex fiend—at least, not when he’s drunk and prone to doing stupid things). 

oikawa and andres cling to each other’s neck as they stumble out of the bar. their captain had already taken some teammates home, and the others decided to bar hop. oikawa and andres end up at the beach. 

“why’re we here?” andres asks, leaning against the railing as he looks out over the moon on the horizon. 

“don’t know. just walked here,” oikawa mutters, folding his arms over the railing and resting his chin on his arms. 

“do you like the beach?” 

oikawa shrugs. “it’s a fun place. i didn’t grow up by the beach, so it’s nice to see.” 

andres scoots closer to him. “romantic, yeah?”

andres puts an arm around oikawa’s waist, but oikawa doesn’t react. “at night—not so much during the day.” 

“well, it’s night now.” andres’s breath tickles his ear. he swivels his head to face andres. they’re nearly nose to nose. 

“are you trying to fuck me, andres?” 

“no, if you wanted to fuck me before this, it would’ve happened. you’re hung up on that little guy—i got no chance, toto.” 

“then why is your hand on my hip?” 

andres laughs and steps away. “it’s worth a shot every once in a while when you’re drunk, right?” 

oikawa laughs and pushes at his chest. “sorry, it’s a stupid situation, you know?”

“it’s love—of course it’s stupid.” 

“what would you do if you were me?” 

“you can’t ask me that. we’re not the same kind. i wouldn’t even have kept in contact with him. his dick must be magical to keep stringing you along for years.” 

“i think it’s more the other way around.” 

“you think that, but you break a lot of hearts daily.” 

“so does he—the little bastard.” 

“did you think you would see him again today?” andres looks at the beach again, stares at the volleyball net that’s set up. there’s a couple people playing, but they both know they’re just regular people throwing a ball around. they’re not the sand-grounded, high jumpers that they’re thinking about. 

“no,” oikawa says, a wistful sigh leaving his lips. “he’s at home.” 

oikawa grips his phone in his pocket. he should call iwaizumi. it’s been a while since they’ve spoken, but to be fair, oikawa’s been afraid to call since his last run-in with atsumu. he makes to pull his phone out and at least text iwaizumi when andres grips his wrist and snatches his phone.

“hey, hey—don’t do anything rash now,” he teases, holding his phone away. 

oikawa grunts and flings himself at andres, trying to get his phone back. he might’ve grown up and everyone back home ogled at his broad shoulder and big chest at the olympics, but the men on his team weren’t far behind in bulk. andres was still a few inches taller than him. 

“i’m just gonna text my friend!” he exclaims.

andres laughs and wraps an arm around oikawa’s neck, dragging him roughly down the street. “come on, let’s go drink some more. you’re not red anymore,” he jokes. 

“ _ che _ , we should go easy! we have practice tomorrow!” oikawa finally grabs his phone back and pockets it.

“come on, just one more round. i’ll buy.” 

oikawa, charmed by a south american grin and the appeal of confidence, ends up drinking more than a round. he wakes up the next morning with the worst headache he’s ever had. it seems he’s not the only one who’s previous night fucked them up. someone’s in the bathroom vomiting while their captain is literally dragging their libero out of bed for a shower. 

a mess, all of them. 

the stronger drinkers, like andres, seem to be fine, cheery even. 

“sleep well?” andres teases oikawa.

“get out of my face, fucker. i woke up on the floor,” he mutters. 

“hey, at least you’re not that guy.” he points to one of their spikers who’s trying to hold in his need to vomit. 

thankfully, the bus ride is short, and their spiker vomits on the sidewalk outside of the gym. it really makes the team look good, pulling up hungover to a practice game and now throwing up outside the venue. the rest of their somewhat functioning team gets into the gym and changes quickly for their game. 

“you gotta be shitting me,” thiago mutters in the middle of their warm up.

oikawa hears hinata’s laugh before he sees him on the other side of the net across the court wearing the  asas são paulo uniform. andres claps a hand on oikawa’s shoulder. “four times now, toto. when are you gonna get the hint?” he laughs. 

oikawa runs to the other end of the court, but it feels like hours have passed when he’s finally standing in front of hinata. only on a footstep separates them, and oikawa can feel the heat of hinata’s body radiating. there’s so much oikawa wants to say to hinata. all the pretend conversations he’s had in his head in the shower or laying in bed at night replay, but none of those subpar scenarios prepared him for seeing hinata again on the court (then again, oikawa was never prepared to meet him; would anyone be prepared to meet a breathing star?). 

“what are you doing here?” he blurts out. 

hinata smirks like he’s been waiting for that question all his life. “you asked me to come back, so i came back.” 

oikawa’s breath catches in his throat. “i thought about you,” he says, trying to wrangle in the millions of things he wants to say. it’s the dumbest thing he could possibly say, and he’s so glad that they’re the only two people in this gym that understand japanese because he looks like an absolute ass in front of hinata. 

“i thought about you too,” he says, a soft smile on his lips. 

“are you here for good?” oikawa asks.

“i’m not a brazilian citizen, if that’s what you’re asking. i just play for them, but for now—yeah, i’m here for good.” 

volleyball should be the only thing on oikawa’s mind, but he suddenly wants to shove off his kneepads and go to the beach with hinata. all the impossibilities that he had just thought about just a few days ago were suddenly possible now. they could fuck in a familiar bed, eat dinner together, call each other and be in the same time zone. granted, they wouldn’t be next door neighbors, but it wasn’t japan and argentina. they weren’t the width of a star apart anymore (maybe they never were). oikawa takes a deep breath, heady with the idea of getting to ask hinata out on a proper date—

“beat me.”

he pauses and blinks. “what?” 

hinata smiles and nods toward the ca san juan team. “beat me and then i’ll say yes.” 

oikawa smirks and resists the urge to grab hinata by the front of his stupid brazilian uniform. “dinner by the beach tomorrow night, seven o’clock.” 

dinner was wonderful, but oikawa couldn’t taste anything over the cotton excitement in his mouth. his tongue prickled and his stomached rolled over on itself every second hinata graced him with a smile or a stupid joke. it’s almost unreal how cold hinata’s fingers are in his palm. he always thought hinata only radiated heat, but even stars get cold sometimes. 

“are you cold?” oikawa asks, holding onto his hand a little tighter. 

“not that cold. it’s just nice like this.” like this. holding hands, walking on the beach with sand between their toes, shoulder to shoulder with the waves playfully lapping beside them. 

a stray beach volleyball hits their feet from a game some locals had started. hinata picks up the ball and looks up at oikawa. “they’re asking us to play,” he says.

oikawa scoffs. “didn’t we just have a practice game yesterday?”

“so?” the moonlight catches on his sunflare-colored eyes. there’s no resisting a challenge like that.

oikawa grabs the ball from hinata and throws it back at the locals. he takes hinata’s hand in his again and starts jogging toward the court. 

“you’re on.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading all the way to the end if you did!! i worked really hard on this fic and was really excited to finally post it!! please leave kudos and comment if you can~ find me on [twitter!](http://twitter.com/xixuwus)

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [twitter~](http://twitter.com/xixuwus)


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